Rewritten Vendetta
by A Grayer Shade of Gray
Summary: Vendetta has been Rewritten, again. The Punisher finds himself the target of -another- assassin from the Emerald Isle this time. Finn Cooley hires an old flame to take out a new menace to his business and things get a little personal when she adopts an id
1. Default Chapter

Calling in Reinforcements

(AN: I have had MANY complaints about my original rewrite of the 2099 Vendetta character, so here I go again. I really like the idea of fitting her into the modern day stories, she does suit the situations very well. I will cut the back story from before and place her as a polar for Castle. Do ya ken what I mean?)

"Call in Vendetta," Finn screamed at Michael across the table. "Th' fuckin' cunt's as tough as that bloke, tougher, I'd wager..." A little nostalgia ran through his voice as he thought about the woman who was the I.R.A's toughest bitch.

Bitch and Sire Catholic Irish, the legends about her went. She was as tough as them come, as dark hearted, sadistic and murderous as any of the male assassins ever hired by the Irish, and twice as effective. She had the Irish look, the red hair and the small frame, but to lose her in the Anne of Green Gables Irish immigrant woman mentality was ill advised. Very few Irish Catholic women were Matriarchs by nature, but Vendetta, Jade Gallows, was. She was a mother of the cause. Single, no children, but a man's woman in every way; she'd take any man she wanted, even if he didn't want her.

Darkness had already settled on the other side of the pond and Jade was sitting, pushing back shot after shot from a bottle of Scottish Whiskey. Her ruby painted lips left a small stain on the edge of the shot glass. The only woman in the bar, a bar known to be one of the last hold outs for those who disagreed with the peace process.

The television was playing the match from earlier that evening. The Irish national rugby team was playing England, and getting it handed to them by the Limey wankers. Jade sighed and put the glass down on the Guinness coaster set underneath. Her cell phone went off and she flicked it open.

"Yea'?" her voice was gruff as she answered the phone. She had been celebrating a job well done and was not in the mood to be disturbed by some cunt who thought he was big stuff enough to hire her. It surprised her when she heard the voice on the other end of the line.

"Jade, Ah've got a job fer ya, sweet 'eart," the voice of Finn Cooley, an old "friend", charmed across the Atlantic.

"You know the cost," she was inwardly a little excited that he had not indeed been killed as many had suspected, and hopped no doubt.

"Aye, an' all yer expenses'll be taken care o' too. Jus' make yer way ova' ta' New York, an' Ah'll make it worth ev'ry pound."

"Ah'm sure ya will," she pressed the end button with a slender finger and returned the phone to her breast pocket. "Ya faceless wanka."

She stood up, forgetting to pay her tab but refusing to be bothered by the bartender and his vain attempts to get her attention. He wouldn't hassle her too much, after all, she was the Vendetta. An assassin who could be hired for one hell of a quick, brutish and painfully settled score. To many men she was a Goddess who scared the piss out of their wife beating asses.

She didn't take to kindly to her fellow Irish mothers being beaten by the men who claimed to be freeing them from the oppression of the British and every now and then a random wife beater would turn up dead in the streets of Dublin, his penis cut off and his balls ruptured.

She walked down the street and headed to her apartment where she would pack her meagre possessions and prepare the bribes that she would need to get her guns onto a plane headed for New York and herself on a plane headed for New Jersey. She could get Finn to have her bags picked up, then if the police, or the Punisher bloke she had been hearing about.

She saw him once too, when he came to Ireland (MK Punisher) when he came to Ireland. He killed her husband that day and the she still hasn't been able to thank him.

Her red lips surrounded the white end of a cigarette as she rounded a corner, lighting it and inhaling the noxious poison deep into her lung. The smell of smoke burned in her nostrils and she smiled. She was going to New York, something her parents and grandparents had wanted to do, of course, their reasons for immigrating would have been for a better future for their children, Jade had other ideas.


	2. A TransAtlantic Relation

A Trans-Atlantic Relation

Three years ago when the Punisher had made a trip to Belfast, Ireland, Jade's husband, Cyril, had been one of the men he killed. She had yet to gave a chance to thank him.

Cyril had abused, beaten and turned Jade into a woman who was ripe to become what she was now. She was a fragile woman, teetering on the brink of death every night. Would he beat her? Would he rape her? Would he just pass out in a pool of his own vomit? She never knew what his arrival would bring home, but there was one thing it wouldn't, a pay check. She did what she could to get extra money, and with that said, she did everything she could and received worse beatings and two abortions as a result, but she didn't look back in anger, she didn't blame her past. She knew what she was doing now, and she liked it.

She wore headphones on the flight and slept most of the way, ordering a rye and coke when the stewardess asked her if she could get her anything.

Before she knew it the flight was over and she had landed in New Jersey. A young mick, looked to be Finn's nephew, Peter. He gave her the quick once over and she eyed him.

"You Vendetta?" he asked, his little eyes watching her, looking at her breasts, her thighs; sizing her up in the way most men do. She brushed it off.

"Depends," she kept walking past him, letting her eyes slip to a black car that waited outside. She smirked and walked to it, her carry on slung over her shoulder as she sauntered to the Crown Victoria.

She pulled on the passenger's seat handle and smiled at Finn Cooley. "Really, Finn, ya couldn't've sent a nice blonde boy ta pick meh up? Ya know Ah prefer 'em."

She smiled and climbed into the passenger's seat that had been Peter's spot. He now had to sit behind his uncle in the cramped space of the back seat.

His hand rested on her leg as she put her back between them. "Ah know, luv, but Ah'm jus' not up ta publicita like Ah used ta be..." he smiled and rubbed her thigh. She put her hand over his and smiled at him.

"Ah'd say i' was an improvement," she smirked and eyed him with a fierce gaze. After her husband was killed, before Finn's accident, they had been involved in a bit of a sexual relationship. Neither was much for romance, so the strictly sexual basis for their relationship suited both just fine. When Finn's face was blown off and he retreated to Canada, the relationship was unofficially over.

"Ah, ya know ya can' resis' me, luv; even if ya try," he winked at her, well, as best he could with no eyelids and did what was a half smirk. "Ya know, jus' cause we've been on a hiatus..."

"Ya lef' me in Belfast ya rotta'," Jade looked out the window at the buildings they were passing on their way out of the Garden State and into the Big Apple. "It'll take a li'l more than some sweet words ta get inta mah pants this time."

"If Ah rememba right, didn't take any tha last time," he leaned a little closer to her at a red light and whispered: "Jus' a real big bomb at a British Army Headquarters an' you were all but beggin' me for mah big bomb."

"In ya dreams."

"Ev'ry night, sweet 'eart. Ev'ry night."

"So, what's this job ya wan' me ta do?" she brought their conversation back around, turning the course to anywhere but their past relations. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy them, it was more that she would rather not repeat her past mistakes.

"'is name's the Punisher, Frank Castle," Finn started out.

"Ah was hopin' ya'd say that..."

Jade and Finn discussed the job at length the entire ride back into the Kitchen while Peter drifted in and out, watching the familiar streets around them.

Streets that they would throw into chaos with their petty squabbling. Streets that would be filled with the blood of innocent women and children, just like in the Emerald Isle. Peter believed in the cause, a free Ireland, but the blood that was being shed, innocent blood on both sides... How could he live with himself....


	3. How do you do it?

How Do You Do It?

Back at the favoured pub of Finn Cooley and his associate, Michael, Vendetta sat and had a pint with her new employers. The Guinness was as black as their hearts as Peter fetched another pitcher. After the second glass, Michael excused himself to take a piss.

"So, how'd'ya plan ta git rid o' the man 'ho won't die, luv?" Finn said, his eyes attempting to entrance Jade's the way they used to, when he still had skin on his face rather than a plexiglass face mask which made him look like some Phantom of the Opera cast reject.

"Ya sayin' I canna' do it?" she challenged with a smirk, knowing full well that wasn't at all what he meant, but the game was set in play.

"Many men 'ave tried," Finn put forth, taking a drink from his pint glass and swallowing the thick beer with satisfaction. She certainly hadn't lost her fire since he left her alone in bed that night in Belfast.

"If ya've'nt noticed yet, Finn, Ah ain't no man," she said with those cold diamond eyes that had entranced him, rather than his own eyes, as green as their home isle, enchanting her. "An' I dunna' give up easy."

Peter returned with the pitcher of beer and sat down with his can of Coke. He wasn't even allowed a rye and Coke, just plain Coke, no matter how much he protested to his uncle that he was old enough to drink, even here in the states.

"So, wha's ya plan?" Finn asked, leaning closer into the woman who sat opposite him.

Jade moved closer to him and smirked, a devilish smirk that said that she was going to tell him, but then it faded and she just winked. "Dun'cha worr' tha' prettah li'l face o' your's, Finn dahlin', Ah'll git ya job done fer ya, an' then Ah'll come back an' take ya fer tha ride o' yer life." She probably wasn't joking. Finn and her had shared many nights of passion that had started out as nights of blood, bombs and gore; frankly those things made both of them horny and neither took any steps to hide it.

"'ow could any man resis' sweet talk like that," Finn sneered, tough it would have been a very polite looking grin had he the lips to pull it off. They could all remember that smirk though, the "I know I'm good looking, I know I'm going to go to bed with you tonight, I'm Finn Cooley" smirk. Of course, Jade was giving her own smirk on her side of the table, and it was just as arrogant.

"They can'," she tipped back her glass and let the rest of the thick ale slide into her mouth. It rolled over her tongue like a black sea, crashing against the back of her throat and falling into the abyss of her stomach, which reminded her.

"This place got good grub," she asked, her stomach feeling a little ill with the lack of food and the introduction of alcohol into her system. She let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair, an arm draped over the back of the chair casually.

"I think so," the accentless Peter said, a little hastily. Apparently the only ones who were allowed to speak freely were the "adults", though Vendetta guessed Peter was only about five or six years her junior.

"Well then, git tha lady somethin' ta eat, why don'tcha, Petah?" his uncle gestured for the boy to leave, and for Jade to move closer to him in the horse shoe shaped booth. With Peter off to grab something to eat, and Michael still not back from the lue, the two were lft alone to each other's company.

"So tell meh 'onestly, did'ya miss meh?" Finn asked, snaking an arm around her shoulder and pulling the red haired woman close. "Since ya won't tell meh ya plans fer takin' out tha Punisha' ya can atleast give an' ol' bastard that much, can' ya?"

"Ah did... Ah missed ya fer all of a day an' then I realized tha ya ain't worth the worry," she smirked and shifted away. "Mah plan involves me not being seen with you," she smiled and began to take her leave from the table. "And passing off as a semi successful American. You do anything to make me look like the Irish bitch I am, I'll cut off your balls and mail them to your mother. She says "Hi", by the way." And with that, Jade's Irish accent disappeared and a very convincing American accent took its place. She smiled and winked to Finn as she left the table.

Michael past her as he came with her food, a confused look washed over his face as he sat down with his uncle, who was now alone. "Where's she going?"

"Ta do 'er job an' come back ta Daddy Finn," the older, faceless man said with no small amount of pride in his voice.

"But what about the food?"

"Eh, tha three o' us should be able ta eat as much as one li'l lass like 'er," he took a fry and began to eat.

Michael returned to the table and they discussed the matter of the River Rats, the and Maginty. Jade was only hired to take care of the Punisher, not the other three, and as good as she was, to take out an entire gang would be difficult, even for her expert self.

"Hey... You're Finn Cooley..."


	4. Electric Blue Eyes, Who Sent You?

Electric Blue Eyes Where Do You Come From?

With the capture of Finn Cooley's nephew, Peter, Frank and his comrades had the chance to get a leg up in the war. There was little doubt that Peter Cooley knew what Finn was planning, and why the bomb went off in the middle of the day, in New York. As ideas go, it wasn't the best idea to blow up a building in New York, now more than ever.

Frank and his fellows, Yorkkie and Andy, discussed the best way to take care of their Prisoner of War, because with the bombing on New York soil, they certainly turned it into a war in Castle's eyes, and the British agents were used to fighting wars against the Irish.

After a lengthy discussion it was decided that Frank would be the one in charge of getting information out of him, which of course, was the best idea. After all, of all three men, Frank had the most experience in the field of inflicting pain. However, the job wasn't handed over easily. Andy had wanted the chance to beat the Mick that had shot his father, and though he was promised a chance in the end, it was obviously not a satisfactory decision in the mind of the young Black man.

With that decision made, Frank left the warehouse, knowing that his techniques will work better on Peter the longer he sits in that closet by himself. Putting on his leather coat, Frank walked down the street, passing several run down tenements.

He remembered the time, a few years ago, when he had first come back to New York. Joan the Mouse, Spacer Dave and Mr. Bumpo; and of course, the Russian. How could he forget the giant man who nearly killed him, and then came back again, as an even more giant woman, to kill him for the second time. Frank still had to cringe every time he saw a pair of painfully large breasts on an equally large woman. The tenement dwellers their selves, however, had become dear to Frank, sort of, when they had saved his life; twice in Joan's case. Frank was well aware of Joan's feelings for him, and she was well aware of the fact that he couldn't be what she wanted him to be.

In his day dreaming state, Frank didn't notice a young woman, possibly 27, maybe a little younger. He bumped right into her, his larger frame toppling the young woman and sending her armful of books to the ground as well as her purse.

The pink purse spilt open and a student card fell to the ground, as Frank, always the polite man around innocent people, especially when he was in the wrong, bent to help her collect the large stack of books, he got a better look at the student ID.

Along with a signature, a year number and her picture, her name was printed on the small, plastic card. It read, in large, black letters: "Barbara M. Castle"

Frank's eyes widened and he looked at the girl, who was fumbling with the contents of her purse, scooping them back into the small bag and taking her books quite gratefully. Her cheeks were tinted just a little pink with embarrassment and her eyes were the clearest shade of blue. Chestnut brown hair fell past her shoulders, cascading down her back and in front of her. She wore a pair of blue jeans and a snug fitting pink sweater.

Looping the handle of her purse through her left wrist and balancing the stack of books, which Frank could read from the spines involved Criminal Psychology, she thanked him and tucked some errand strands of chestnut hair behind her ears. A little pink crystal stud sparkled in each earlobe.

"Thanks, most people would have just flipped me off and kept walking," she said and then headed back on her way, entering one of the tenement buildings that neighboured Frank's warehouse.

"No...problem..." He was stunned. The Punisher, stunned? Didn't happen often, if ever, but when someone who he thought had been dead for more than fifteen years was out, walking, down the street, he had more than enough reason to be stunned. Of course, it could all just be one large coincidence... Or it could be real.

What if she really is the Barbara M. Castle who was his daughter? What if she really hadn't been shot all those years ago? Frank's head swam with the plethora of thoughts and counter thoughts. It could just be one big coincidence. Could it really?

_Realistically_, he thought to himself after he purchased a hotdog from a street vendor. _How many families are named Castle in New York, or the surrounding area. Maybe a couple hundred. Maybe half of the people bearing the last name Castle were female, and another half were in the right age bracket. So far that's 1/4 of all the people named Castle. Now, how many are brunettes, with blue eyes, named Barbara? With the initial M.?_

The "M" was an important question. Frank's daughter bore the middle initial "M" for her mother, Maria. Since their son had been named after Frank, he promised that their daughter would be named for her. How would any one else know that? It was a matter of public record, yes, but Barbara had been dead for so long...

By the time he had realized that he had been walking while thinking, he had finished his foot-long and walked three city blocks. The tall man in black turned around and headed back to the warehouse, it was about time that Peter needed a talking to...

The blood on his bandages would be dried now, stuck to his skin, leg hair and the fresh scabs. Pulling them off would not only be a hygienic necessity, it would also be incredibly painful for the young Irish lad.

By the time Frank had pulled off the bandages from both legs, the boy past out twice. Frank could just imagine what would happen when he had to pull the bullets that were lodged in his knee caps out...


	5. Manhattan Micks

Manhattan Micks

Jade got into the Lincoln and took off the hat and sunglasses.

"Ya look like ya in yer fif'ies," Finn said, starring at the woman who climbed in beside him.

"Ah'll be more than 'appy if'n Ah look this good when Ah'm fifty," Jade said with a smile. She met Michael with a cold stare as she caught him watching her in the rearview mirror. "This betta' be good. Ah had ta pass th' Punisher to get 'ere." She finally said to Finn, settling into the corner of the spacious Town Car.

"T'is, lass; they've got Petah," Finn said, looking out the window with his chin resting on his hand. Jade didn't ask how he had lost the plexiglass mask that kept his flesh to his face, she'd rather not know. His eyes looked sad, she knew how much family meant to a lot of the Irish boys, and Finn was just one of those boys to whom family meant more than most. "Ah think they're gonna kill 'im. The bloke 'o's fatha 'e killed is wi' Frank an' Ah know 'e's gonna wan' vengeance..."

Jade looked at the man from her corner and felt little. Peter was never a favoured boy by Jade, inspite of their proximity in age they always ran with different crowds. "What do you want me to do?" she asked in the American accent which was becoming more comfortable to put on and take off when she needed to.

"Jus' know tha' ya migh' be in danga'... If Petah tells ya secrete coul' be blown," Finn told her and his obvious intention was betrayed. He still held feelings for the woman sitting in the backseat with him. "Mayba' ya shoul' go back ta Irelan'..."

"Ya 'ired meh ta do a job, Ah'll git i' done. Petah 'as no idea wha' Ah'm doin' ta git close ta Castle, an' neitha do you..." she reminded him bluntly. This was the exact reason why she had kept her plan secrete.

"Ya always were a cleva' one, 'aven't ya been?" Finn looked at her and she shook her head, putting the sunglasses back on.

"Finn, ya lookin' a' me fer somethin' ya coulda got years ago," she put her hat back on and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ears. "Is' too late now."

With that said she got out of the car, taking one more look at Finn. "Petah'll be okay, trus' meh. An' as fer me, Finn, Ah can take care o' maself..." She closed the door and headed back to her apartment, two blocks north and one block west of where the car was parked.

As she walked away from the car and it started to pull away, Andy, who had been taking his own break from Yorkkie and Frank's reminiscing about Vietnam. He had seen Finn Cooley sitting in the car, and his associate Michael was at the helm. Something was up because they had no reason to think, or know, that the two British agents and the Punisher were hiding out in a warehouse near with Finn's nephew in their clutches. When the woman climbed into the car, Andy knew that they had no clue, that this was a meeting. He would have to tell Yorkkie and Frank as soon as he got back to the warehouse, but first...

Andy followed the girl as discretely as he could, trying to make sure she didn't notice she was being followed. In a city the size of New York, you'd think that would be an easy task, but unfortunately for Andy, this woman seemed to be watching for just that sort of thing, every few moments she would look over her shoulder. Finally she disappeared into one of the tenements that was close to the warehouse Frank and Yorkkie were torturing Peter at.

_Thi' can't be good_, Andy thought. The woman was in close contact with Finn, and in close proximity to them. She had to know that he was being held near by... _God Damn Yank's gonna get us killed..._ He cursed as he began to run towards the warehouse. He had to tell Frank, and fast.


	6. Unexpected Visitors

Unexpected Visitors

Jade had just gotten out of the shower, wearing a terry cloth robe as she rushed to answer the door. Her dyed brown hair hung down over her shoulders, making her cold in the slight draft of the apartment. She looked through the peep hole and flattened her back to it, turning around.

_Jesus Christ! _She swore silently, looking around her apartment in an attempt to find some fesible escape. There wasn't one. After all, she was wearing a bathrobe. The Punisher was knocking on her door, and she was wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Of all the shitty luck... _Make i' work, Jade,_ she told herself, smoothing her hair back and clutching the robe tightly at a spot just above her chest.

"Just a second," she called, nimbly unlocking the door and opening it, leaving only the chain across. "Can I help you?" She inquired, innocently enough, batting her eyelashes. "Hey, you're the guy from the street..." She let a pink smile play on her generous mouth. "How can I help ya?"

"Have you seen an older woman, about 40, with white or gray hair?" Frank asked coldly. His ice blue eyes bore into her, and Jade got the feeling he hadn't bought her Barbara act.

"Uh, no... Wait, there was this one woman, I went down to get my mail and she was standing in the foyer... I didn't recognize her. She was wearing all black with a hat and really ugly sun glasses," she furrowed her brow as she described the "old woman".

"Have you seen her before?"

"Nope... well, she was down there when I came back from class too, after you helped me with my books. Is she alright?" feigning compassion Jade looked at the man, hoping that she could get some sort of glimmer from Frank, after all, when he looked at her he was supposed to be seeing his daughter resurrected.

"Thanks for your help," Frank said looking at her, something reflecting in his eyes besides a general hate for the world and all the filth that it created.

"Hey, wait, is this woman in trouble?" Jade cried after him, trying to catch the large man's attention as he turned around, going to check the other three tenement dwellers.

"Not yet." His only response.


	7. Painting the Town Red, Black and Blue

Painting the Town Red, Black and Blue

Jade closed the door and sighed with relief. They had nothing that connected her with the old woman. Nothing that could lead them to her, except the black sweater and jeans, but what trendy NYU girl doesn't have a black sweater and a pair of black jeans that makes her ass look damn good. Speaking of looking good...

Jade let the terry cloth pass down her shoulders, dropping to the ground at her feet as she walked around her apartment, preparing for the night. Tonight she was "going out", with a specific intention to draw attention, the type of attention that no father would want for his daughter, especially one with a history of serious mental conditions.

Jade smiled and selected a cute, tiny skirt: black with pleats and a pink, studded belt, and a pink tube top. The outfit would gather just the kind of bad attention that Jade wanted, and then all that was needed was the Italian-American anti-hero element, and her on-the-fly plan just might work.

The woman thought the plan through one more time. She had the clothes, she had the body, and the wonderful metropolis of New York would graciously provide the rest for her. She smiled as she brushed out her chestnut hair, which she still wasn't used too, and continued getting ready, lipstick, eyeshadow, every little detail was perfect for a college girl heading out to a party.

She slipped on a pair of strappy high heels, grabbing a small, pink purse and a black jean jacket. At the door she hesitated, turning around with her hand lingering for a moment on the door knob. It lft the cold metal and snatched up the Beretta that she had put in a drawer near the door just in case.

"Just in case," she repeated, kissing the side of the gun. If Frank didn't show, she didn't want any skirmish to last long. A quick shot and the wanker would be done for. She put it in her small purse and opened the door. She locked the archaic lock behind her and headed downstairs and out the front door.


	8. My Daddy My Hero

My Daddy; My Hero

Sirens in the distance signalled that this was a standard Friday night in a very troubled city. Troubled in the means of population, culture and society. The population was going bad, culture was going bankrupt and society was crumbling. Frank forced himself to forget about that part of the city for now, that part of the problem. He had told Yorkkie that he would help him, not that he had much of a choice anyways, but he would stand by his word.

_Enjoy it while you can, fuckers_, Frank thought as he wandered the streets, leaving the two British to see if they could get any more out of Peter. In the process of "investigation" they had found out that Finn had brought in a hired gun from Ireland, a real bitch of a woman. Jade Gallows, aka Vendetta.

"_Yeah, Ah know o' 'er," Yorkkie had said, drinking down bitter, old coffee at a dinner not too far from their hide away. "She's one o' them I.R.A. killers fer 'ire. She'll off anyone fer a buck, though. Equal opportunity killah."_

"_Do you think they brought her in for the Westies, or the River Rats?" Frank asked, eating a bite of tasteless omelette and swallowing the greasy mass. "Or Maginty?"_

"_Not at the price she's sellin'," Yorkkie shook his head with a disheartened look on his face. "She ain't no ordinary lass, Frank. This girl's Black Irish Catholic; she's got Satan in her, if ya believe the Protestants."_

"_I don't..." _

"_Either way, she ain't here for any pathetic gang, Ah think Finn brought 'er in ta take care of you, lad."_

"_Is that so..."_

Their diner conversation ran through his mind, time and time again. Who was this mysterious Jade woman? Yorkkie's guess was a good one, it wasn't the first time that someone had been desperate enough to hire outside help to get rid of him, but was that the real reason? Was this snake Peter even telling the truth?

Frank wandered for a good hour or so before he turned back towards the warehouse, the only sounds this late at night, even in this seedy part of New York, was the distant cry of sirens and the sound of Frank's shoes, clicking softly on the concrete of the sidewalk. Every now and then, a scream would call out into the night, a car would pass him, or a homeless beggar would beg him for all he could spare, but other than that, the city was asleep.

The sleep was disturbed by an outraged cry and a blood curdling shriek coming from the alley next to Frank's warehouse. A questioning eyebrow rose and he peered in, this close to home there was no harm in doing a little regular work on the side of this "side job". He expected to see a whore, or perhaps just a regular looking girl, being manhandled by a pimp or rapist, what he didn't expect was for that "regular looking girl" to be the same girl who had dropped an ID noting her as Barbara Castle.

Frank quickly caught the attention of the would be attacker, a small white man about 25 with a junkie physique, frightening him enough to throw Barbara to the ground. She fell, hitting a dumpster and tossing her into a world of blackness. That just succeeded in causing Frank to become even more possessed by his anger.

The larger form of Castle lunged at the attacker, knocking him to the ground with one easy blow. That wasn't enough though. Frank hauled the 120 lbs man to his feet, jamming him backward into the brick of the wall and snarled ferally in his face. Frank's intimidating appearance did more than cause the man to cry, Frank's nose also detected the sharp smell of urine as the piece of shit pissed himself in fear.

"You're pathetic," Frank snarled, spit leaping angrily from his lips and attacking the junkie's face. "You aren't even worth my time." He tossed him towards the mouth of the alley, and the junkie, all too happy to be free, apologized and ran on his way.

Walking to the mouth of the alley, Frank withdrew a pistol and shot him in the back of the head.

With that dealt with, the more immediate importance of the unconscious girl came to light. Whether or not she was indeed his daughter, she did bear ID proving at least half of it was true, she did bear the name "Castle". She also couldn't be left here to become prey of an even lower kind of evil. Her slender form was hoisted up onto Frank's shoulder and he carried her out of the alley, finding a pink purse by the dumpster. He picked it up and peeked inside. A wallet, probably full of identification cards would prove her real self surely.

He wouldn't take her back to where they were keeping the rotten Irish prick, her apartment was in a building a block away, he had seen her there, going into the building, and when they were searching for the mysterious woman, now known to be one Jade Gallows, he had come across her just after a shower, as he had observantly noticed.

As he neared the apartment building, Yorkkie was standing outside, having a smoke.

"Where'd ya find 'er?" he asked looking at the woman Frank carried, smirking inwardly at the fact the Punisher, a man who had killed a number of men even God couldn't calculate, was holding a pink purse.

"In an alley, she lives up there." Frank gestured with his head, into the building that stood ominous and dark.

"Ya mean tha' buildin'? Tha one Andy saw Gallows comin' from?" Yorkkie continued to question. Judging by the look on Frank's face, he was beginning to understand where the British agent was heading.

"She ain't Gallows," Frank said sternly, wanting so much to believe that his daughter was actually alive; wanting so much to be able to protect her again. A small spark of Frank Castle had been awoken by this woman, hoax or not, Frank preferred to think of this unassuming girl who had yet to cause trouble as a murderous Irish siren.

"Well, Andy said she wasn't that old lookin', 'cept the hair, from wha' 'e could tell," Yorkkie wasn't going to let this one pass. He had a strong feeling that Castle, for the first time ever, was letting emotions wrap him up for the wrong cause.

"Fine, but Andy ain't gonna tell ya she's Gallows."

_Shit, shit, shit. Goin' inta th' lion's den now._


	9. My Daughter My Enemy

My Daughter; My Enemy

Having actually passed out, succumbing to the head injury she received from the junky's toss to the dumpster, Jade was easy to move. She was taken to the warehouse where Peter was, put in a chair just slightly more comfortable than his, meaning it had a thin cushion on the seat. Her hands were duct tapped together, behind her back, and a piece of tape wrapped around her chest to hold her upright. Her legs were tied down too, just in case she was the real Jade Gallows, Andy and Yorkkie didn't want any trouble from her, Frank really didn't care. If she was the real Gallows, and not a girl named Barbara Castle, whether his relation or not, he had nothing to do with her. If she had been hired to kill him, she hadn't succeeded, she hadn't tried, as far as he knew. She hadn't killed anyone who was innocent in New York. She was none of his business.

Yorkkie had other plans for her, however. If the finger prints came back positive, she was Jade Gallows, the IRA's Vendetta, she was getting a one way ticket to England for prosecution and jail, if not a death sentence. Traitors to the Queen still got special treatment in England.

"Wake up," Frank ordered the girl, straggling strands of brown crossing her foggy vision.

Jade struggled to get her eyes to open, then to keep them open. The air was dry and stung her eyes. "Whu... Dad?" she really had no intention to say that, she had been hallucinating about her childhood in her unconscious state. "Ah dun wanna play soccah, Ah wanna play rugbah." She spoke in slurs, but the Irish accent was clear. She at least filled two thirds of the criteria to be Gallows: She was Irish, and she was a woman.

"Who are you?" Frank asked her, outraged now that he had been fooled, by little more than a bottle of hair dye and what looked to be blue contacts.

"Barbara Castle," she responded, quickly recovering once she understood what was going on. She remembered what had happened, she remembered being picked up by Frank, over hearing that Peter had given her identity away, and that she was in clear and present danger, now inside the warehouse, with Peter somewhere, giving them a positive I.D. of her.

"Bull shit," frank spat as he spoke, his anger apparent. "Barbara died when she was a child. Who are you?"

She refused to answer, keeping her mouth shut as she stared at him, bright blue eyes watching with a green background just barely visible.

"We'll let your finger prints tell us then." He turned around, walking out of the room.

Jade was now left alone with the incredible silence and sense of doom. She was sunk n ow. Though she had never been caught as "Vendetta" she had a long list of offenses for public drunkenness, mischief and other small, fineable, offenses. All it would take would be for Andy or Yorkkie to pull a string or two, unseal her juvenile records and she was dead.

All that was left for her to do was to wait, and to pray. She was still a devout Catholic.

"Hail Mary, full of grace..." she began to recite Hail Mary after Hail Mary, prayer after prayer. Her head tilted up towards the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

"Mother Mary, protector of the children, the lost and the lonely, deliver me from my sins. Protect me from myself and heal the wounds of my mortal soul..."

From behind a pane of one way glass Andy, Yorkkie and Frank watched her, listened to her praying.

"She knows she's caught." Frank's voice was flat as he spoke, uncompassionate and dull. His eyes watched the woman, anger building up inside. The obvious reason why she had picked the name was to get at him, she knew. She knew. She wasn't innocent, but still, he couldn't justify killing her on his terms. She would die soon enough.

"Tha' she does," Yorkkie said with a sigh, crossing her arms and looking at the picture taped to the glass. The picture was her with her red hair, green eyes. A colour mug shot from an arrest for public drunkenness last St. Patrick's Day in Dublin. "She ain't tha' bad lookin'. Shame she's gotta record as big as 'em green eyes 'o 'er's..." Yorkkie was staring at the picture.

"Since when do you have a thing for Catholic girls?" Frank looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow. Yorkkie had always been a staunch anti-Catholic Anglican; Church of England all his life. Frank, being of Italian roots, was Catholic, or at least he was when he was still a believer, when his wife and children were still alive.

"When ya get ol', a prettah face is a prettah face, Castle," the old Brit said with a smirk, watching his friend with careful eyes. "She's a good lookin' girl, ya can' say she ain'."

"Yeah..." Frank shook his head, not looking at the redhead in the photograph but the brown haired girl who had resembled his daughter so closely. She was good looking, but he couldn't think of her as a sexual being. Even though she was positively identified as Jade Gallows, Andy had received the return from London a few minutes ago.

Frank left the room as Andy came in, the two passing without saying a word. Andy wasn't sure if he trusted the friend of his late father and old friend, and Frank was certain he didn't trust the young gun.

"So tha's Vendetta?" he asked, looking at the woman who was still praying, her voice coming int the room through a speaker beside the one way glass. "Certainly is devout... At leas' when on 'er last days..."

"Ah wouldn't be so sure, Junio'," the older man warned her. "Ya ain't seen 'er in action."

"An' ya 'ave?"

"Just knew a guy 'ho did... Aftah 'er, 'e's a quad. She's prettah tough, Andah," Yorkkie's voice was distant as he spoke of the damage that the girl he was just complimenting had inflicted on a dear friend.

"Ah'll be careful when Ah take 'er back."

"Ya bettah be, son... She's a Siren, no doubt."


	10. Even the Best Laid Plans

Even the Best Laid Plans

"Fuckin' cunt!" Finn Cooley slammed his glass down on the table, before throwing it to the wall and over turning the table. "Now the fucka's have Jade too!" He was doubly angry, his nephew and his former lover, his assassin, were in the possession of the two Brits and the Punisher. "Fuck!"

Michael stood silently, he wasn't fond of Peter or Jade, never had been. He sat bad, knowing that, despite his dislike of Jade, her being in the hands of the British agents, was dangerous. He knew that she held no loyalty accept to God, the Irish Republic and herself, even Finn wasn't safe, especially if the reason they had her had anything to do with his dim witted nephew.

"We're fucked!" Finn continued to rant. "We've gotta get ta Canada an' back ta Ireland... We gotta get out now."

"An' 'ow do ya suppose we do that? Ya've got a notable face, Finn."

"Shut the fuck up!" he screamed in the face of his supposed friend. "Ah dun care 'ow you do it, git me outta 'ere!"

"Why should Ah be tha one to do tha work?"

"Cause Ah told ya to!" he screamed, hurling the table once more, this time toward his friend. "Get meh otta 'ere!" he shouted once more.

"Calm the fuck down, Finn," Michael ordered. "We can' get out wi' ya screamin', an' wi' ya face like tha'. We need a plan."

"Michael..." Cooley sighed, slipping down into a soft chair, looking sad and broken. "Ya'll ways right, mah dear friend. Ah jus' can' believe Ah los' mah nephew an' mah bitch."

"We need a plan, Finn," he repeated, getting another two bottles of Guinness from the fridge. " It'll be easah ta get ya to Montreal, then jus' ta get a good Irish pilot." Michael began to think. He was a brilliant young man, especially considering his company. "Ah need ya to make a couple calls, ya name is gonna bring some big attention, some we wan', some we don't..."

"Ah undastand," Finn nodded, still reeling from the now double loss. It was as if he lost both his right and his left hands, along with the face he already lost.

"We'll get ta Ireland, dun ya worrah, Finn."

"Ya're a good friend, Michael."


	11. Temptation

Temptation

Jade was still held to the chair by duct tape, though she had fallen half asleep. Her head slummed, chin to her chest with brown hair in her eyes. Frank had come in, and with surprising gentleness, removed the contacts from her eyes, stinging only a little from the oil on his fingers. He had looked into her eyes for the first time since she had been discovered to be Jade Gallows, and she had seen nothing in them.

The door opened and she lifted her head. Her green eyes peered through the veil of brown hair to see a stocky, older man with a cigarette in his mouth. The red ember burned against his shadowed face, smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It was Yorkkie, one of the Brits who had come here to track Finn down. Instead, they had captured an infamous assassin in the midst of a game.

"Ya mus' be gettin' old, Lass," his British accent flowed around the white stick of tobacco and paper. "Now, Ah've gotta proposition fer ya, but ya gotta promise that ya ain' gonna do anythin' stupid if Ah untie ya."

She looked at him dryly, not moving. She wasn't going to promise anything, since she knew what was in store for her back on the other side of the pond. Even if it was just life in prison without the possibility of ever seeing the light of day again, there would be enemies inside. She had probably killed a brother, father, sister, lover of at least two women in any given cell block in any given prison on the island. She knew that she couldn't allow herself to be put into custody of the British in England, she would have to escape some time before that, but not yet. She also knew that Frank and Yorkkie had no qualms about shooting her dead and cold.

"Ya listenin' ta meh, lass?" he asked again, his face close to her's and his breath rank with cigarette smoke and tea.

"Yes," she hissed at him, her eyes still starring into his, unblinking and burning with an inner hatred for everything that this man in front of her stood for.

"Well then, girlie, give meh an' answa an' maybe Ah'll untie ya," he repeated, breathing his rancid breath onto the young girl with a snide smirk.

"Ah'll beh good," she said her eyes still holding no intention behind them. She would behave well enough, and since the two Brits weren't here on "official" business, she knew that she wasn't "under arrest" yet.

Yorkkie untied her, a large knife slicing through the duct tape. He peeled it off her skin, pulling out hairs and skin. She hissed in response, but got no sympathy from her releasing captor. She kept seated while his knife ripped through the tape around her legs, releasing them from their place against the chair's legs. Jade's eyes watched carefully as Yorkkie stood again, a ball of duct tape clutched in his left and the blade that cut her free in his right.

"There ya go, lass," he said, a crooked smile on his thin lips. "Now, Ah've got a chance fer ya. Ya know ya're gonna go back ta London wit' Andy, but tha thing is, 'e's a servan' t'our Queen, so 'e can't deal wit' that scum bag Petah."

"Wha's this got ta do wit' meh?" Jade asked, rubbing her sore and bruised wrists, feeling the circulation returning to her legs and fingers now that the circulation was no longer cut off. "Ah ain't undah arrest now, Ah ain't gotta do shyte for ya an' yar wankah." She didn't like where this was going, she didn't want to be the lap dog of the British, in fact that is exactly what she was fighting against at home.

"Aye, lassy, but if ya do this one li'l thin'," he smiled and edged closer, walking around behind her. His hands rested upon her shoulder, making sure she was seated in the chair. "We'll make sure ya get a more lenient sentence, maybe even put ya in an Irish prison. Ya'd be a 'ero there, rather than a target fer murder."

"Whu' d'ya need?" she asked, looking up towards him with her eyes, but never moving her head or face. She would listen, especially for that change of venue clause. If she didn't make her escape, she would definitely need the kindness, and the Irish prison sounded a lot nicer.

"Jus' a li'l thing, nothin' ya 'aven't done before, sweetheart," he whispered to her ear, his breath hot and still bitter to her nostrils. "Ya lovah boy's nephew turned ya in, gave ya up. Ah jus' want ya ta take ya're revnge."

"Ya gotta keep Castle away from meh," she had a dry expression on her face as her eyes turned towards the door where Yorkkie had fixed his stare. "'e'll kill meh if 'e knows what's goin' on,"

"Dun worry, Lass; Frank'll be fine wit' the idea," the British agent spoke with a chill that infested her spine. There was something in the way he had said this, something in the way that he was smiling.

She had a feeling that, even as nasty as Peter was, Frank wasn't going to be happy if she killed him. Jade had managed to keep her nose clean, the only thing that he had caught her doing was impersonating his daughter, which really wasn't that successful, but other than that she was clean. If she killed on his grounds, even if Yorkkie and Andy said it was okay, it didn't mean that Frank was going to let her get away with it necessarily.

"Ah think Ah'll 'ave ta say no ta ya, fag smokin' wankah," she kept her eyes fixed, feeling her body lurch forward as the chair was ripped out from underneath her body, sending her forward and down to the ground. She hit hard, her knees and palms taking the weight of her body, but not enough for her landing to be anywhere near soft.

"Fine then, bitch, rot away!" Yorkkie hurled the chair at her.

Jade raised her arms up to protect her head, curling her legs up to her stomach, trying to keep her vital parts from being hit by the wood planks of the chairs. She whimpered as it hit her, not breaking any bones, but shattering the light wood of the chair. Pain shot through her arms, the soft part of her side and her hip.

She laid on the floor, hearing Yorkkie's steps as he walked out of the room, his steps quieting as he left, cursing her and her stubbornness. "Dumb Irish cunt."

The door slammed shut and Jade uncurled herself, pushing the wood off her body, letting it clatter to the ground. She inhaled deeply, feeling a sharp, hot pain flood her body, stemming from her ribs. It looked like she was in deep now, deeper even.

Moving to the wall and leaning against it, tilting her head up, she began to pray again.

"Mary, Mother of God, give me patience, strength and courage to survive. Guide me through this time of crisis..." she crossed herself repeatedly, tears starting to form in her eyes as she became overwhelmed by her situation. "St. Jude the Advocate, if I should die, please plea my case to Peter, keeper of the gates. Mary, Mother of All, protect me if my evils are judged for what they are, and my soul condemned to the realm of Lucifer..."

From behind the glass, Frank crossed himself, whispering along lost prayer for the soul of the girl on the other side of the glass, on the verge of tears. The proposition that Yorkkie had just given her, murder Peter and get a hand in her defence, sickened him. He knew that Andy wanted the scumbag Peter dead, but to use the power they had over their prisoner...

Yorkkie came into the room and was shocked to see Frank standing there, standing and starring with those cold eyes so often the last thing that criminals could, and would, see. "Frank, Ah didn' expect ya ta be 'ere."

"I'm sure you didn't. Tell Andy to do his own dirty work."

Frank walked out, his cold aura passing Yorkkie and giving the battle hardened Brit a shiver. The door slammed heavily, leaving Yorkkie alone to observe the girl through the one way glass.


	12. Cold Shoulder

Cold Shoulder

Early the next morning Vendetta was rudely awakened, her body jerked from a cold, hard and awkward sleep on the cement. Her back, her head and her shoulders ached, on top of her bruised side from the chair Yorkkie had threw at her.

Jade's hazel eyes rolled back in her head as the heavy curtains of her eyelids pulled upward to let her see who was the one pulling her. She found it to be the malato agent of Britain, Andy. She didn't know his last name, or what rank he wore, or even what agency he worked for; all she knew, needed to know, was that he was the one who was going to take her to England to face trial. And that after that trial, she was as good as dead.

"C'mon, lass," he said, his English accent different from her own, Irish, accent. He hauled Jade into a standing position, snapping a hard, cold pair of steel handcuffs around her slender wrists. "Ya gotta date wit' 'er majesty's court."

"Let her get to the court, Yorkkie," Frank warned his friend. He still had to deal with the Westies, Maginty and the rest of the Irish trash that were running around in his town, he didn't want to have to worry about Yorkkie, Andy and how their were treating the woman left to their care.

"Aye, Frank, ya know meh. Ah'll let justice take 'er life, Ah ain't gun do it me self," he spoke, taking a jab at Frank. He knew that Frank had seen everything that had gone on between Jade and himself last night, including when he whipped the chair at her, which resulted in bruises they could all see on her half exposed thigh and on some other, covered, parts of her body. He felt that he was allowed to make a comment like that after last night.

"Don' Ah git a say in 'is?" Jade asked, her eyes glaring towards the three men, who almost in unison growled their response.

"No."

Her eyes looked into Frank's and he could feel her inside him, her eyes were captivating. Desperate but strong beyond all reason. She wasn't afraid. She took a deep breath, her head held high as she took one last look at Frank, her eyes shimmering with some unseen knowledge, some unseen meaning. Frank didn't care, though. After all, she was a killer, a murderer for hire; had she done any of her business in his city, she wouldn't be as lucky to be taken away by two crooked cops.

When the two English men had left, headed back to England with their Irish captive in tow, Frank returned his attention to Peter Cooley, the all but forgotten nephew of Finn, the whole reason the Vendetta had been caught. Frank had decided that he would have to thank Finn personally for his assistance in putting her away, and the card came in one size: .45.

"Where's your uncle, Peter?" Frank asked, leaning over the timid Irish-American, nowhere near as tough as true Irish, Frank noted. It made his job easier, but less satisfying.

"I told you, I don't know!" Peter's voice was shakey, nervous. His knees had been shot out by the British, one of whom's father he had killed. He knew he was lucky to be alive, and that he would only be as such as long as he was of use. "If he ain't at the club, I don't know where he's gone."

"What club?" Frank asked, the business end of a 9" buck knife doing the punctuation for him.

"McGinty's. It's in the Kitchen, south side, s'all I know. I swear it." His eyes were erattic and fear filled, the eyes of a man who knew that his time was coming, and all too soon. "I swear to the Virgin, and Jesus and God him-fucking-self that's all I know!" His fervour had put him on the verge of tears.

Frank was reminded for a split second of Jade, in her cell last night, praying to the Virgin for protection, for salvation, for her life. Frank pulled out his Colt and put a quick shot into the frontal lobe of the miserable Irish wanna-be bad boy and watched it blast out the back, spattering brain matter, blood and skull fragments all over the back of the closet.

As he closed the door on the dead Mick, Frank composed his plan. Gather his guns, go kill Finn Cooley, get the River Rats and Westies, then take down Maginty. Then maybe take a vacation: Haiti sounded good.


	13. Disappearing Act

Disappearing Act

Frank's ominous presence filled the door frame of the bar's front entrance, his silhouette casting a dark shadow right up to the bar. A staunch man, gray hair, green eyes and a jolly physique polished beer glasses, sorting them by brewer on a felt cloth on the counter.

"An' wha' can I get fer ya?" he asked in a gentle Irish accent, quite different from the harsh, acrid accent of Gallows', proving that class had as much to do with accents in England and Ireland as it did in New York and Rhode Island. "I's cannay sell ya a pint onna count o' it not bein' eleven yet, lad, but if'n ya'd like a coffee, I got tha best in tha block."

"No thank you, I'm just here for some information." Frank walked up to the bartender, who seemed like a good man, at least when compared to Kevin, the bartender that Soap would get harassed by on a constant basis.

"I'd beh 'appy ta oblige ya," the bartender leaned down, his elbows resting on the bar top. "But ya see, there are these lads lookin' fer ya."

Frank heard the sound of foot steps and semi-automatic weapons being levelled and aimed towards him. From the shadows of the bar, the Westies, or at least the four men who claimed to be the Westies, came to the foreground.

"I'm obliged to thank you, Mr. Punisher, ya scared off our biggest competition." One of the men, the leader presumably, said. "Finn Cooley's run clear across the ocean thanks to you, an' now since we're gonna get rid o' you, all we'll have ta deal wit' is those fuckin' Negroes."

Frank's body was tense, his hands ready to reach inside his trench coat and pull out one of any number of weapons the leather garment concealed in its folds. As the first shot was fired, Frank vaulted over the bar, his legs taking out the bartender and knocking over the glasses that he had been so intently polishing. The crashing glass and the two male bodies hit the deck, covered by the bar.

"Please don't kill meh," the Irish bartender pleaded, a wet stain growing on the crotch of the man's pants.

Frank rolled his eyes and drew out one of his two Colts, darting up from behind the protection of the oak wood bar. He fired twice, hitting one of the four men in the chest and shoulder. He was down for the count. As the blood oozed from the Irish man's chest, Frank dropped back down under the protection of the bar and informed the bartender of a rear exit and that if he indeed wanted to live, soiled as he was, to run for it.

The sound of gun fire ceased when the Micks lost sight of their quarry. The leader signalled one of his two remaining lackeys to go forward. The blonde man advanced toward the bar, his semi-automatic rifle held in front of him like a shield of some sort. As he closed in, a small, green ball flew up from behind the bar. The grenade hit the ground and detonated. Shrapnel and fire shot in all directions, chairs and debris going with it. The Westies, left right in the middle of the explosion, were little more than a group of charred corpses now.

Frank had killed two birds with one stone, no pun intended. He had killed the Westies and found out where Finn Cooley was hiding. Unfortunately, he was hiding half way across the world, in Ireland. Frank wouldn't worry about going after him now; Ireland was far enough away that he wouldn't be a bother to Frank in New York city.


	14. The Great Escape

The Great Escape

Jade, Andy and Yorrkie waited in the airport, the two men on either side of their non-official hostage. Jade crossed and un crossed her legs in an anxious manner, fidgeting endlessly. Finally, after about ten minutes of almost non-stop motion, Yorkkie turned to her and with a gruff, harsh voice, he barked: "What in God's name is ya problem, lass?"

"Ah gotta piss," she said flat out, looking at the two men, who were more than partially taken aback. Proper English women didn't say things like that, they didn't say "piss" either. What they had to remember, and what finally did come back to them, was that she was a) not proper and b) not English. Never English.

"'Old it."

"Fer tha whole plane ride? Fuck that. Cruel and unusual punishment. Ya make meh do that, an' Ah'll tell mah lawyer all about tha chair an' this whole thin', since Ah've been thinking..." she smirked at the two men, her head twisting to look at Andy, and then back at Yorkkie. "Neithah of ya blokes are 'ere officially. Ya canna arrest meh on American soil. Tha's wha Ah'm not in 'an'cuffs." She smiled, proud of herself for figuring it out.

"What are you sain'?" Andy asked, tired of all these games, not only Jade's, but just the games in general, the bull shit with Castle, Yorkkie's "interrogation". All of it was starting to bore him.

"If ya let meh go tha washroom 'ere, Ah'll say ya caught meh right in downtown London, gettin' on a plane ta NYC. Ah won't say ya abused me or mah rights."

"'ow do you know we can trust ya?"

"Ya don't. But some chance is bettah than a pink slip, I'd suppose?" She smiled, a wicked red smile. She was still dressed up as Barbara Castle, in the skirt and pink top, all dolled out with some bruises showing on her thighs. She had been given Andy's over coat to keep the public eye from her bruises, she was already suspicious enough.

"Fine, but Andy'll be waitin' right outside, dun take too long." Yorkkie crossed his arms over his broad chest and sank back, deep into the chair. He was not pleased, but she had a point, since they weren't officially in the US, they couldn't place her under arrest and since they couldn't do that, they technically had no real leverage to get her to do what they wanted her to do other than force, which she could then turn around soon as they got her to London. Indeed, this whole operation had turned into one career risking manoeuver after another.

Jade and Andy stood up and he held her by the elbow, an attempt to make it look like they were newly weds, or at least enjoying each other's company, while still being able to control where she goes.

"So, wha's a good guy like ya doin' wi' tha' trash Yorkkie?" Jade asked Andy as they followed the washroom signs towards their destination. She smiled at him, offering up a gentle curve on those red lips that had seduced many an Irish boy, and English for that matter.

" 'e's a friend of th' family," Andy said, harshly pushing her towards the door. Her smile caught him off guard and he saw what Yorkkie had warned him about. Even battered, without food or sleep, she could turn the charm on with a flick of a switch. "Jus' do ya business an' make it quick."

"Ah, ya're no fun," she said with a mock pout, her eyelashes batting at the dark skinned officer as she opened his coat a little, reminding him of her curves and her exploitive attire. She turned and smirked, looking at him over her shoulder. "Ah'll see ya latah, sugah," she winked and disappeared behind the door.

Andy leaned against the wall and sighed, his eyes drifting closed for a moment. Much like Jade, Yorkkie and Frank, he hadn't gotten much sleep in the last few days either. He had been taking his turns watching Peter and Jade, and the two shifts took a lot of time from his life, eating and sleep had fallen to the way-side.

A McDonald's was located right across from the ladies' room and the smell was intoxicating to Andy. He realized now that he hadn't had much to eat his entire trip here. "A second or two'nt 'urt..." he mused to himself as he crossed the walk way, led on by the lure of a delicious Big Mac.

It didn't take him very long to get his burger, or to cross back to in front of the women's washroom. He had kept his eye on the door the whole time, and only one woman had walked out, and she did not bear any resemblance to Jade. She was older, carrying a baby in her arms, and slightly larger than the former red haired woman.

He munched on his burger, leaning against the wall near the door. Another woman walked in, her eyes lingering on Andy for a while, wondering just what was the man doing loitering around the woman's washroom. She had just pushed through the door, it hadn't even closed yet, and she let out a blood curdling scream.

Andy burst through the door and received a simular scream, though more shocked than terrified. What he saw was what he knew would have happened. A woman lay, unconscious, with her child beside her missing it's blanket. The woman was wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of panties. Vendetta had struck again.

"Oh fuck," he swore, dropping the rest of his Big Mac right on the floor as he burst back out of the door and ran back to where Yorkkie was now asleep in his chair.

"Yorkkie! Wake up!" Andy shouted at the man, a worried tone in his voice. "She's gone. She escaped!"

"Oh fuck."


	15. Epilogue

Epilogue

So, now with Yorkkie and Andy gone, Jade Gallows headed to face the gallows, I'm left alone again. Thank God. Not that I didn't enjoy the reminiscing with Yorkkie and the Kid, but I would have really had more fun doing my usual thing.

It had been a few weeks now since they had left, and the body of Peter Finn had been discovered and his murder attributed to one of the other Irish gangs, who are now all out of commission, though not to my credit. I've gotta admit it, though, ol' bastard had style.

Just crawled out of the shower, not even dressed yet, and the phone rings, a cell phone, which is odd because I don't remember ever owning one, or taking one off someone for more than a second or two. None the less, curiosity gets the better of me, it might be someone looking for a fix, and I could set 'em up with one, a permanent fix.

"Hm?" I don't say anything, not stupid. I didn't know who was expected to be picking up on my end.

"Hey Frankie."

_Holy fuck_, I think to myself. That's a familiar voice, one that should be dead unless Yorkkie and that fuck up Kid screwed up. "Gallows."

"Aye, t'is meh," her voice was smiling, and the connection didn't sound trans-Atlantic. Was she back in New York? Had she ever even left?

"What the Hell do you want?"

"Jus' ta tell ya tha' Finn Cooley ain't no trouble ta no one, n'more," her accent was almost too thick, I was having trouble understanding her drawl, though it was a soothing one. "An' if'n ya wonderin', Ah did kill 'im, an ya buddy from 'er Magesty's services. Andy's 'right though. Can' kill a kid, now can Ah?"

"What the Hell do you want?" I repeat again. I'm holding a towel around my waist and I'm in no fucking mood to play mind games with a damaged Spud head.

"Tempah, tempah, Frankie," her voice was soothing, maddening to me as I tried to not slam down the phone. There was obviously something that she wanted to tell me, and I'll be damned if I don't find out. "Ah jus' wanna thank ya fer sumthin' ya did las' time ya were in Ireland."

"Your husband?"

"Ya go' it."

"He just got in the way."

"Nah, Frankie ya got meh wrong."

There was a knock on the door. Some how I knew who would be on the other side. I held the phone in one hand and my Colt in the other as I unlocked the door. If the Irish Siren wanted in she could open the door herself, and she did.

There she stood, talking on a cell phone, wearing an outfit which would have drawn attention even in Soho. Gray skirt, black sweater, tall boots, scally cap, and flaming red hair. It must have been her natural colour. Even an old bastard like me could admit that she was pretty damn good looking. And I, an old man in a towel, stood in front of her.

"Ah wanna thank ya fer killin' Cyril, ya nevah knew tha bastard, an if ya did, ya woulda jus' killed 'im fastah," she moved closer to me and I immediately wanted to pull the gun and shoot her, but since I was still holding the phone, when the towel dropped, I was left exposed.

She looked at it, withered in the cold air. She didn't laugh at it, which was kind. She looked up at me with a smile on her lips, and I suddenly felt what was in her eyes. There was a hunger in her stare.

"I love my wife."

"She's dead."

"You will be too if you don't leave."

She smirked, her shoulders shrugging under the black sweater. She sauntered towards me and I lifted the gun. She moved very slowly, languidly, and forced the gun down and to the side. She pressed her warm, red lips against mine and pulled back, her eyes truly enchanting had I not wanted to shoot her.

"Ya got mah numbah now," she spoke with her lingering accent as she turned. The view from behind as she walked away was almost as good as the view from the front. "Give meh a call if ya evah wan' a little roll of tha stones."

And with that, she headed out the door. I could have stopped her. I could have shot her. I probably should have. But I didn't, and that was the end.


End file.
